


Bad Side of Twenty-Five

by Gia279



Series: 5+1 Things [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 +1 things, Derek is excited, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Kira has an orange bug because Vila, M/M, Misunderstandings, Scott is hungry, Sheriff POV, Sheriff is having none of this middle aged shit, Sheriff's name is John because it is easiest for short stuff, The Pack is Awesome, a lot of time spent in grocery stores for some reason??, also swearing casually, and there's peter fuckin shit up, another raven boys ref, because for some reason I decided Sheriff in this fic has a sailor mouth in his own head, because i am OBSESSED, can totally see him telling someone to calm down and be chill and thinking some f-bombs, i just thought i'd write a sheriff-central fic because sheriff is the sheriff, nice things, rebekahdarian says it's national police week or it was so, so much fun, surprise parties, suspicious sheriff, the pack appreciates the sheriff, this is meant to be cute, which would be hilarious because he just looks so mild and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6928519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or- The five times Sheriff Stilinski surprised the members of the pack and the one time the pack surprised him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Side of Twenty-Five

**Author's Note:**

> Yooooo this was such an exciting idea I had to write it while banging my head against the desk trying to write chapter nineteen of Gods and Monsters. 
> 
> It's technically still National Police Week, right? 
> 
> Sorry about the title. I suck. I blanked. 
> 
> There will probably be edits once my beta awakens and reads it. I, um, I posted pre-beta. I got excited.

**Prologue**

“This is the list. These are your assignments. Do not mess up,” Stiles said, passing out some papers. “I’m serious. The last thing we need is him finding out about this.”

Derek lifted his hand. “Are we having it here?”

 _Here_ being the basement of the Stilinski house.

Stiles scoffed. “Are you kidding? The man can nose out Oreos faster than you guys can. We’re going to have it somewhere else. The park, I was thinking.”

“We could do it at my place,” Derek offered. 

Stiles smiled, because he couldn’t resist when there were excited lights dancing in Derek’s eyes like that. “Sure, we could do that. You ready for that though?”

“It’s just going to be us, right?” He gestured at the rest of the pack.

“Yep. Okay then. Just try to get this stuff sometime before Friday, because that’s B-Day and we’re setting up then.” Stiles looked at his clipboard. “Dad works all day Friday, so if we start early enough in the morning, we should be done by the time he’s ready to come home. That way we can intercept him-” he pointed at Malia and Kira, who nodded seriously, “and bring him to Derek’s loft.” 

Lydia looked at her list, nose wrinkled. “I get to pick the decorations, right? You don’t have anything…picked out?”

“I leave that in your capable hands,” Stiles said seriously.

She looked satisfied. “That’s fine then.” She folded the paper precisely and put it in her purse. 

“Good. Now, shoo, before he suspects something.” Stiles looked up nervously while they all scattered.

 

**1**

Sheriff John Stilinski was not ready to turn forty-five. It was not a thing that he needed in his life. His son was twenty-one and in college and John was having none of this middle aged shit. 

In self-defense, he went to the store, grabbing a cart and wheeling with some ferocity around the aisles. He was still in uniform and therefore got stopped every few feet to talk to people who had complaints or a hello to offer. 

“Sheriff, do you know Missy Talbot _still_ lets her dog into my yard every morning?” an elderly redhead demanded. “I have told her and _told her_ and still, that yappy little cotton ball is in my yard doing its business every day when I go to get my mail.”

“Mrs. Hurley,” he sighed, “I’ll have someone talk to her. But you really need to talk to animal control about this.” 

She sniffed angrily and stalked away. Eighty years old and she was still walking, back straight as a steel rod, in four inch high heels. 

John was somewhat impressed. 

He rounded the corner to the hardware aisle, figuring he could pick up a replacement for the set of screwdrivers Stiles had managed to destroy while fighting something called a _fafnir_ , which John had thought was _one thing_ in mythology and was apparently a group of poison-breathing serpent creatures. 

“Oh, sorry,” he said, backing his cart up when he nearly ran someone over.

“Sheriff!” Erica Reyes squeaked. “Hi!” The cart at her hip had a pile of feathers in it. A feathered boa.

Behind her, Vernon Boyd stepped back, a long coil of rope clutched in one hand, the other holding electrical tape. 

Erica grinned weakly. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Boyd put the rope behind his back as if removing it from sight would make John forget it had been there. 

“Getting screwdrivers to replace the ones Stiles used on the.” He waved his hand around his head. 

Erica nodded vigorously. “Right. Yes. He said you were working late today?” She glanced at Boyd for confirmation.

John narrowed his eyes. He’d known these kids for years. He knew when they were hiding something. He looked at the tape in Boyd’s hand. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Erica said immediately. Her cheeks were turning red. 

“Uh-huh.” He kept staring at her, which made her cheeks redden even more. 

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she amended. She looked at Boyd again. 

He brought the rope out. “We’re experimenting,” he claimed rather loudly.

“Jesus kid!” John covered his ears. He didn’t care about childish, he had known these kids since they were _kids_. “I don’t need to know _anything_ about that.” He held his hands out. “Just. Carry on.”

“Roger that.” Erica saluted him cheerfully, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Sheriff.” 

“Just—be safe.” He nodded blindly and retreated, abandoning his cart in his haste.

 

**2**

On Tuesday, the Cubs were getting their asses kicked—shockingly—when Stiles came scrambling down the stairs, wearing half a shirt, one sock, and sweats that were _just_ hanging on.

“Did someone knock on the door? Has anyone come to the door?” he babbled.

John stared at him. “Why?” he asked finally.

Stiles looked at his shirt and fumbled with the other half, pulling it closed. “No reason. Just. No reason.” He ran back up the stairs. “I said sorry!” he shouted suddenly, followed by a loud _thump_.

“Nope,” John breathed, jumping to his feet. He had a feeling he knew what this was, and he had no desire to be in the house for it. At all. Or anywhere near the house for that matter. 

He drove around for a bit, muttering to himself about being chased out of his own house by his kid, before pointing his car toward a Wal-Mart just outside of Beacon Hills. He could pick up some dinner while he was out, that way Stiles couldn’t ruin it with some mystery vegetable. 

When he parked in a space far from the door, he shot a text to his kid, warning him that Derek was expected to stay for dinner if he was going to be ripping Stiles’s clothes off in his house.

 **So not what was going on Dad** came through, followed by an alert for a new text, this one from D. Hale.

**YOUR CHILD THREW ME OUT THE WINDOW SHERIFF**

Stiles always laughed at John’s texting style, which, he claimed, was as if he was penning a letter, but Derek’s texting was hilarious, because he texted in all caps and made it seem like everything was really urgent. He said it was to emphasize his words, but all John imagined was him shouting everything, all the time.

He sent both of them a **Be good.** text before tucking his phone away and going into the store. He was particularly happy embarrassing his son, although he did have to wonder why and how he’d managed to get Derek Hale out the window in the first place—the guy had to weigh two hundred plus pounds of muscle and while John knew his kid was a wiry little shit, he also knew that Derek wouldn’t move unless he wanted to be moved. 

He got another text while he was fighting with the carts, trying to extract one. 

**He’s lying I did not throw him out the window have you SEEN him**

John laughed, shaking his head. He was glad those two had each other. They made things lighter for each other, even when things weren’t so great. He’d even come to like Derek, all things considered. He made Stiles _crazy_ with frustration or laughter, which was nice. He’d been too serious since the werewolf business had started. It was nice to see him acting like a regular twenty-something occasionally. 

Whistling to himself, John wheeled his cart around aimlessly, plucking things off shelves as he went—it was the way of the Wal-Mart visit. Finding things you didn’t think you needed and putting them in your cart, then ending up at the checkout wondering why the fuck you needed three toilet scrubbers and turquoise rubber gloves. 

He went with the more understated dusky pink gloves instead, then wheeled toward the other side of the store, toward the Home & Bath section. 

“I still say you can’t go wrong with blue,” a familiar voice said stubbornly.

John turned his head, frowning. He was just passing the crafts section and he could have sworn he heard…

“Scott, Lydia will _kill us_ if we go with blue.” That had to be Kira, then. “But I really like the pink, too.” 

“We should get both, to be different,” Scott said cheerfully.

 _Pink? Blue?_ John dragged his cart behind him as he backtracked.

Sure enough, Kira and Scott were standing in an aisle, both of them holding at least three packs of balloons in their hands. Kira was frowning at a package of pastel green balloons on the shelf. 

“Well, maybe if we get green…that’s sort of in-between?” 

There was also a package of bibs in the cart next to Scott’s hip and John felt his heart _stop_. 

“What’s—this?” he managed, stepping into the aisle. He looked between Scott and Kira, felt himself gaping a little. 

Scott’s eyes bugged out and Kira started sputtering.

 _I’m going to be a grandfather and it’s not even my own kid,_ he thought a little frantically. 

“We—we…” Kira looked at the bibs and let out a helpless little laugh. “This is…” She gestured with the balloons, then gasped. “Oh, no. These aren’t! They’re…”

“We’re picking some stuff up for Kira’s cousin. Who is having a baby shower. In two weeks,” Scott said haltingly. 

“Scott,” John said sternly. “I’ve known you since you were six. You cannot lie worth a damn.”

“I can, too. I do every day.” He flashed his eyes and grinned, proud of himself.

“I think that would be considered…lying by omission, though,” Kira pointed out. Earnestly, she added, “The bibs really are for my cousin.” 

“The balloons?”

Her hand flexed around them. “Those, too. They’re having twins. So. You know. Blue. Pink.” She waved the balloons a little. 

A flailing, panic-gesture that John was sure she’d picked up from Stiles. 

John walked closer and put a hand on both of their shoulders. “You’re both adults, and you’re both very responsible,” he said seriously. “Whenever you need to talk, you can talk to me. I won’t judge.” 

Both of them were gaping a little, red-faced, as they nodded, so John nodded back and walked back to his cart, feeling a little dazed. He wondered if Melissa knew. 

 

 **3**

John was making himself some coffee Wednesday morning when Derek Hale crept out of his basement. 

This was somewhat alarming, as he hadn’t seen him go _in_ the basement, and also because Derek was looking especially cheery, which was an expression that was so rarely seen that John wondered if someone had drugged him down there. 

Then he wondered if his son was down there, and shuddered, turning resolutely away.

“Sorry, Sheriff, Isaac forgot some of his homework down there on Sunday and I told him I’d grab it for him,” Derek said. His voice trembled with what John was going to assume was some deep-buried fear of the father of his boyfriend, because it made him feel powerful. 

“That’s alright.” John turned around with his mug. “Stiles let you in?” he asked causally.

Derek’s face dropped to a scowl instantly. “I climbed through the window that he threw me out of yesterday. He forgot to lock it.” 

John grinned wide. “How the hell did he manage that?”

Derek flushed. “I was distracted,” he muttered. He looked at the stack of paper in his hands, then back up at John. “I have to take these to Isaac,” he said, and damned if his eyes hadn’t lit up with humor. 

“Alright then.” John lifted his mug in a salute and watched Derek leave quickly.

He used the front door for his exit. 

Amused, John went upstairs to wake Stiles for the hell of it, and found him already awake and on the phone.

“—inventory here. Yeah, obviously.” Stiles scoffed. “Don’t—wait.” He looked up and grimaced at his father. “Dad, can you get me some Tylenol or something? I have a headache.” He pressed two fingers to his temple, wincing.

“We don’t have any,” John reminded him. “You used it all the last time something tried to eat you.”

Stiles swore under his breath, then winced.

John narrowed his eyes; he wanted to believe that Stiles just had a hangover and therefore deserved whatever suffering he was going through, but he recognized the signs of a migraine in his son, the too-shiny eyes, the twitch near the corner of his mouth.

“Alright. I’ll just run to the gas station for some,” he said, straightening up. “Keep the lights off. And get off the phone,” he added, exasperated. “That’s not going to help.”

“I will, I’m almost done. Thank you, Dad,” he said, and offered a strained smile.

John nodded as he left, worried. 

The closest gas station was the gas station/convenience store, so John knew there’d be a line of people trying to get their coffee and morning gas, but as it was the closest to the house, he figured the line would still be faster than early morning traffic. 

He went in and squeezed his way around the line that was nearly backed up to the door, heading for the middle aisle that contained medications and various health products along with miniature bottles of household cleaning products.

“I still think bleach, just to be safe,” Isaac Lahey insisted, shaking the bottle at Allison Argent.

“Bleach would just make more of a mess. Resolve is much better. I put my life in Resolve’s red plastic bottle once and it saved me.”

“What does that even mean?”

“She spilled cherry Kool-Aid on the Yukimuras’ beige carpet and had to get it out before Ken noticed her,” Malia said, rounding the corner with an armful of firewood. “Hi, Sheriff,” she said cheerfully. 

Isaac spun around, bumping into the shelves behind him. “Hi,” he muttered, ducking down to scoop up the bleach he’d knocked down. 

“What’re you kids doing?” he asked suspiciously. He looked at the firewood Malia was holding, and the firewood already piled at Allison and Isaac’s feet. “Is something going on?”

“No,” Isaac said quickly. 

John lifted his brows. “Why do you need stain remover?”

Allison looked at the spray bottle of Resolve in her hand. “I spilled some stuff in Derek’s loft.”

“And the firewood?” He lowered his voice. “Is there some…thing…you need to burn? If so, you need to let me know, so I can make sure my guys don’t get the fire department over there.”

“No, we’re just—” Malia began brightly before something in the next aisle crashed and shattered. 

Someone yelped, then sighed loudly. 

John rushed over, eyes widening when he found Peter Hale standing in a puddle of wine and glass shards. 

“Oops,” he said cheerfully.

The employee standing behind him let out another long sigh. 

“I’ll pay for them,” Peter said. He offered her a charming smile, which had her flushing and turning away, toward the supply closet near the bathrooms. “Hello there, Sheriff.”

“Is there a reason you knocked over half of their display?” John asked, exasperated. 

Peter looked at the mess, tapping the toes of his sneakers. “Would you believe it was an accident?”

“With reflexes like yours? No,” he said flatly.

Peter smirked. “Why, Sheriff, was that a compliment?”

“An observation of your freakishness,” he shot back, almost grinning when the smirk dropped off Peter’s face. “You’d better pay for that,” he added. He went back to the medicine aisle, grabbing the migraine pills for Stiles. “Be safe, kids,” he said, frowning.

“You got it, Sheriff,” Isaac said in a high, nervous voice. 

Allison was talking to Malia behind him. “It really _is_ too much, I think the charcoal would be better,” she cajoled. 

“But it tastes funny,” Malia whined. 

John shook his head and went to the counter to pay. He seriously wondered what was going on at Hale’s loft sometimes. 

 

**4**

**Dad can you pick up some dinner I’m starving and also I don’t want to get up**

John sighed, squinting at his phone. **Why don’t you want to get up and get it yourself?**

His phone immediately started ringing. “Yes, son?”

“ _I was trying to surprise you. I’m cleaning the house and I was wondering if you could bring home some groceries or something for tonight,_ ” Stiles babbled. He muttered something to someone beyond him.

“Who’s there?”

Stiles took a hissing breath. “ _It’s just Derek and Scott. They’re helping since half the mess is theirs._ ”

John didn’t want to know what his house looked like if _half_ “the mess” was the fault of two werewolves. “Are they staying for dinner?”

“ _Derek is._ ” 

A loud thump, followed by squawking protests, and Stiles said, “ _So is Scott, apparently._ ” 

“Alright then. Don’t _break_ anything, please.”

“ _Too late!_ ” Scott called in the background cheerfully.

John hung up before Stiles could defend himself. He’d give them the chance to fix it before he got mad. It was probably something small and Scott was just messing with him. 

He couldn’t help grimacing, thinking of the personalized mug Stiles had gotten him for Father’s Day when he was thirteen that he secretly adored. 

After his shift, he went to the grocery store, keeping his eyes peeled for suspicious pack members. He still hadn’t figured out what Scott and Kira had been doing, if his guess had been right or not, and he still hadn’t heard anything about why Allison, Isaac, and Malia needed so much firewood and stain remover. 

As for Erica and Boyd, well. He didn’t _want_ any more details about those two. 

He was picking out some tortilla chips—the only chips Stiles didn’t complain about—when he heard a familiar voice in the next aisle. He rolled his eyes because he should have _known_. He put the chips in the cart next to the sweet potatoes—he had no clue what he wanted for dinner, so he’d just started grabbing things out of self-defense—and poked his head around the next aisle.

“Can you see through that? It won’t work if you can,” Lydia said, tying a piece of black cloth around Jackson’s eyes and stepping back.

“I can—” He stopped midsentence, one hand brought up like he’d been about to tear the blindfold off. 

Lydia turned, a spool of wide red ribbon in her hands. She smiled. “Hello, Sheriff.” 

Jackson dropped his hand, leaving the blindfold on.

“Hello,” he replied cautiously. “Everything alright?” 

“Just making sure Jackson can’t see through that blindfold. Jackson?”

“I can see a bit,” he muttered. 

“Then that won’t work. We’ll need something thicker.” 

“What, ah, do you need…?” He was afraid to ask, but the ribbon implied less dangerous options.

Lydia’s smile widened. “Just some games,” she said sweetly. “Do you think this ribbon is strong enough to use as a restraint, Sheriff?” she asked in an innocent tone.

John choked. “I don’t—”

Jackson also choked. His face, beneath the blindfold, started turning red. 

“You’re probably right. I think I should go with something a little sturdier.” She tilted her head at Jackson, tapping her chin with a manicured nail. “We could use some of your ties, Jackson. They’d be…sturdy.”

“Okay, kids! I’m just—going now.” He backed away hastily, wondering if there was a full moon coming and if that’s why he suddenly knew _far too much_ about the kids’ sex lives. 

He answered his phone a little desperately when it rang. “Yes, Stiles?” 

“ _You’re not at Safeway, are you?_ ” Stiles asked breathlessly. 

“What? Yes. Why?” He looked over his shoulder, free hand dropping to his holster. “What’s going on?” 

Stiles made a noise like a mouse being stepped on. “ _No reason. Is everything okay?_ ” 

“Why wouldn’t it be, Stiles? Is something…here? Do I need to be evacuating civilians?” he demanded, lowering his voice when Mrs. Alverez looked over at him. He smiled at her and she grinned back, shaking a box of Poptarts at him with a wink. 

“ _God, no! It’s nothing. Lydia just, uh, she texted me. That she saw you._ ”

Relieved, John started pushing his cart again. “Oh, yeah.” He thought uncomfortably about Jackson Whittemore being fitted with a blindfold like a dog being fitted for a collar. “Yeah, I saw her.” 

“ _Are you alright?_ ” Stiles’s voice pressed closer to the phone, scratching as he bumped against the mouthpiece. Worried. “ _Did something happen?_ ”

John let out a barking laugh. “Yeah, your friends are adventurous, that’s all.” 

Stiles was quiet for a beat, then he let out a laugh that sounded so much like Claudia’s that John needed a second to just listen, eyes shut, absorbing. “ _I guess you could say that. Come home soon, okay?_ ”

“Yep, you got it, kid.”

“ _Love you, Dad._ ”

John shook his head, smiling. “Love you too. We’re having steak fajitas for dinner.” He hung up before Stiles could protest. 

 

**5**

The grocery store near the department had amazing calzones in the deli section. John knew they weren’t authentic Italian food but they were loaded with cheese and pepperoni and grease and, admittedly, probably half of what made them so good was Stiles’s loathing of them, so he was determined to get one for lunch every day he could manage. 

John was beginning to think he should just avoid grocery stores from here on out. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t learned his lesson yet. 

“Anyone need anything from the store?” he asked, stepping out of his office.

Parrish pressed his lips together and smiled. “What are you getting?” he asked, standing up.

“Just some things from the deli over there. Did you want me to grab you something?”

He glanced at his phone, then back up. “Do you know those things at the in-store bakery? With the powdered sugar?”

John frowned. “The powdered donuts?”

“No, they’re not donuts. They have this chocolate glaze on one side and powdered sugar on the other…” He waggled his hand out in front of him. “I can’t remember what they’re called, um, but they have strawberry glaze sometimes, too.”

Baffled, John shook his head. “Do you want me to look for you?” 

Parrish sucked his lips in, then blew them out. “You know what? What about one of those pieces of, ah, it’s bread? But it has this glaze all over it and seeds?” 

“I can check…?”

“A donut would do, too,” Parrish said cheerfully. He glanced at his phone. “Thanks!”

“No problem…” John said slowly, heading out and shaking his head. Everyone around him was acting batshit lately. 

The grocery store was crowded with a lunchtime rush, but that was okay—he had time, and the girls at the deli usually saved him a calzone if it looked like they would run out before he got there.

He meandered his way through the aisles, half-expecting to find one of the pack lurking doing something odd in one of the aisles.

It was all normal, civilians of Beacon Hills shopping and doing nothing to send the sheriff into an existential crisis. 

That thought brought to mind Scott and Kira. He really _did_ have to talk to that kid. He’d tried to bring it up at dinner the night before, but Derek had choked and started laughing, which had made Stiles smile all soft and goofy and had, in turn, distracted John so that he forgot what he’d meant to ask.

Troubled, John almost walked into someone. He stepped back and sighed. “Stiles,” he greeted tiredly. 

“Dad!” Stiles squawked. “Hi!” He looked around wildly.

John followed his gaze and sighed again. “Why does Derek have so much food in that cart?”

“Growing, um, werewolves,” Stiles replied, lowering his voice at the end. “You know. They need food. They’re eating him out of house and home. We’re just getting food.”

“Do they normally eat that much bread?”

Stiles looked, with some despair, at the cart Derek was sort of rolling back and forth in place while he studied watermelons. 

“They’re having burgers and it’s just—just inhuman to eat burgers without buns.” 

“They’re not,” John said lightly.

“And hotdogs—what?” Stiles asked, distracted.

“Human, that is. Why would they want buns?”

“We’re trying for Kira’s sake,” Derek said, approaching. He’d chosen three very large watermelons after sniffing surreptitiously at them. “She likes the buns. So does Ken. They’re coming over.” 

“Ah. That makes sense.” He nodded and rolled his eyes at Stiles. “Why didn’t you—tell…me.” He stared at them in horror. “Is there _a reason_ the Yukimuras are going to have dinner at the loft, Derek?”

Derek looked at Stiles, alarmed. “I—it’s just a…it’s just dinner.” He bit down on his bottom lip, lights of amusement dancing in his eyes. “We just eat a lot.” 

Stiles shot him a look of pure exasperation.

“Is Kira—are Scott and Kira—?”

Stiles frowned. “What?” 

Derek cleared his throat, struggling with laughter, it seemed. “He thinks Kira is pregnant. Right?” 

“Well. Yes.” He held his hands out when Stiles started blustering. “You didn’t see! They were picking out pink and blue balloons. They had bibs!” 

“That doesn’t mean they’re having a _baby!_ ” Stiles gasped, holding his ribs as he started to laugh. “Dad! Oh my _god_.” 

“They were acting guilty!” John felt himself flushing like a damn teenager. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, straightening up. “Okay, Dad, first off, when has Scott ever _not_ acted guilty whenever you corner him and treated him like he was _already_ doing something wrong?” 

John grimaced. “Okay, point.” He scratched the back of his head. “So Scott’s not having a baby?”

“Not yet,” Stiles confirmed. “Probably not any time soon, if Melissa has anything to say about it.” 

Derek frowned at him—John knew it, he had a soft spot for kids because of course he did—and Stiles explained, “She wants him to finish school before anything like that.” 

John waved his hands in front of his face. “Okay, whatever. I have to get back to the station,” he said slowly. “Just…be good.” 

“No problem.” Stiles nodded. “What are you here to get?” he asked suspiciously.

“Parrish wanted a donut,” John said instantly. 

“A _donut?_ ” Stiles demanded. 

Derek snickered and pulled his phone out. “I’m just going to…” He waggled it and stepped away, still laughing a little. 

“You’re not getting a donut for a _deputy_ , Dad, that’s not happening, we are not going to be clichés.” 

Amused, John rubbed at his upper lip to disguise his smile. “Well, what do you propose I take back with me?”

“Pan dulce,” he said instantly. “Here. I’ll pick some.” 

John ended up leaving with a bag full of pan dulce but no calzone. The pastries were pretty good anyway. 

 

 **+1**

“Sheriff,” Kira said cheerfully. “Are you getting off shift now?” 

John eyed her warily. “Why?” He looked at Malia, sitting in the driver’s seat of Kira’s violently orange VW bug. “Did something happen?” 

Kira followed his gaze. “What? Oh, she just needs the practice and since Peter’s car isn’t available, we’re using mine. Derek won’t let her practice with the Camaro. But we were hoping you’d come help us with something?”

“What do you need?” he asked, stepping around her to start toward his cruiser. 

Kira scrambled to keep up with him. “We sort of, um, there’s something we need help with at the loft.”

John paused. “What is it?” he asked suspiciously. “If it’s the body of something, I shouldn’t take the cruiser.” He sighed.

Kira nodded vigorously. “Yes. Malia had an incident. With a deer? And it’s in Derek’s loft? And he’s not going to be happy. So we thought you could help us?” Her eyes widened and glimmered. “Please?”

“Did Scott teach you that?” he asked resignedly. 

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, he did.” She smiled. “Thank you so much! You can ride up front. You’re taller than me.” She beckoned him toward the bug. 

Once they were driving, John twisted around to give Kira a dark glare, because her offering him the front seat was absolutely _not_ a kindness.

“Am I doing okay, Sheriff?” Malia asked cheerily. “I think I’ve gotten a hang of the stick shift pretty quick,” she added as they jerked through another gear shift. 

“Yep, you’re doing great. Just…keep practicing.” He eyed the door because at this rate it might be faster to get out and walk. Also better for keeping his lunch down. 

Kira’s phone blipped and she hummed. “Mom says hi,” she said, and muttered something under her breath, softer, that John couldn’t hear. 

Malia started whistling under her breath as she rolled to a stop at a stop sign. “Did you have a good day at work?” she asked conversationally. 

“Um, yes. What is it we’re going to clean up?” he asked, trying to distract himself.

“Oh, a deer. A buck. I was running and I got…um, involved. And brought it back to the den? Or the loft, I mean. So now I have to clean it up before Derek sees the mess. He’ll know it happened but if there’s no mess, there’s usually less problems.” 

She stalled the car twice on the way there, so the fifteen minute drive took almost an hour, by which time John was clutching the edges of his seat and praying. He wasn’t sure to who or what. Just putting it out there and hoping someone would answer and get him to the loft safely. 

He leapt out when they arrived, restraining himself from grasping at his chest; he didn’t want her to feel guilty, but also he thought maybe someone should give her driving lessons. Again. Where the hell was Peter with that? 

“You okay, Sheriff?” Kira asked, touching his arm. 

“Hmm? Yes. Have you guys considered maybe Malia should practice with an automatic first?”

“I have,” Malia said brightly. “I like Kira’s car better. I feel like I’m in _Fast and Furious_.” She mimed shifting gears rapidly, tensing her face to look stern and focused.

“More like _Crawling and Stalling_ ,” Kira giggled. “Come on, let’s get upstairs. You can probably borrow some of Derek’s stuff, Sheriff. To make sure you don’t get blood on your uniform.” 

“How bad is the mess?” he asked cautiously. 

“Oh, it’s pretty bad. Stiles has some clothes here, too, if you don’t want to wear Derek’s.” Kira hooked her elbow through his left, Malia his right. 

Basically a polite frog march. He rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be led, amused by their antics. 

“Thanks for doing this, Sheriff,” Kira said earnestly. “Stiles told us it was your birthday.” 

Malia stepped forward to roll the door open.

“Ah. Did he?” John laughed uncomfortably. “I was hoping to ignore it so I could pretend it didn’t happen.” 

“I’m sure Stiles would want to give you a cake or something,” Kira said brightly, leading him into the darkened loft.

“Why is it so dark in here?” he demanded. 

“We don’t notice.” Malia flashed her eyes at him, grinning. “Come on in, I’ll get the lights.” 

John stepped in further, felt Kira let his arm go and slide the door shut behind him. A creeping chill went across the back of his neck. It wouldn’t be the first time a creature imitated a member of the pack to lure the others into danger. He was dropping his hand to his gun, nervous, when the lights flipped on, momentarily blinding him. 

“Happy birthday!” multiple voices shouted, startling him. 

His hand clenched around his gun automatically before he registered that the whole pack was before him, grinning. “You shouldn’t surprise someone holding a weapon!” he snapped, flushing.

“That’s why we have the werewolves standing up front,” Stiles said cheekily, resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder from behind. 

The loft was decorated lavishly, food set out on almost every surface—grilled meats, snacks, desserts. There was an enormous cake in the middle of the table, surrounded by bright green balloons. 

“What were the blindfolds for?” he demanded.

Lydia laughed. “Melissa said that if the kids across the street could have a piñata for their birthday party, so could you. It’s strung up at the stairs.” She pointed over his shoulder.

He turned and discovered a piñata shaped like a sheriff’s badge hanging from the railing. “Seriously?”

Melissa scoffed. “Of course.” She had her arm hooked around Scott’s shoulder. “I hear you thought Scott and Kira were gonna have a baby.”

Kira squeaked. “We are _not!_ ” 

“It was a misunderstanding.” He rubbed his palms against his pants.

“Are you mad?” Stiles asked hesitantly. “I thought you’d like it.” 

John smiled. “I love it. I really appreciate this, guys. The food smells great,” he added with a grin.

Stiles shook his finger at him. “You can have as much as you want today. But after that.” He tapped his cheek. “I’m watching you.” 

Parrish was there, too, it seemed, though he’d been partially hidden Peter Hale. 

“Were you distracting me?” John asked sharply. “So that Stiles and Derek could finish shopping?”

Parrish grinned. “Yes. Apparently it didn’t _work_ , since you saw them in the store, anyway.”

“Someone got distracted by watermelons,” Stiles said, jerking his thumb at Derek, who was messing with an iPod dock.

“Would somebody make this thing turn on?” he demanded. 

John laughed, shaking his head, while Stiles rolled his eyes and reached around Derek to turn it on.

Once the music started playing, it felt more relaxed; everyone spread out to grab food and chatter, so John approached his son.

“Is this what you were trying to get me out of the house for?” 

“Wow, you’re observant. You should be a cop or something.” Stiles grinned. “Happy birthday, Dad.” 

“Thanks, kid.” He gave him a hug, kissing the top of his head. 

“You gotta say something to Derek,” Stiles whispered. “I have _never_ seen him more excited about a birthday.” 

John laughed. “Is that why he’s been so excited all week?”

“ _Yes._ ” 

John sighed and stepped around Stiles to approach Derek. 

“Happy birthday, Sheriff,” he said immediately. “Stiles wants to do the cake after everyone’s eaten.” 

John nodded. “Thank you.” He looked around. “The loft looks nice.” 

Derek nodded back. “Lydia decorated.” 

More awkward nodding.

Derek looked at his feet. 

John rolled his eyes. “Come here, son. Thank you.” He grabbed Derek in a quick, back-slapping hug. 

He sighed and squeezed him back. “Stiles is a menace with lists.” He stepped away. “Also, there’s steak in the kitchen.” 

John grinned. “Alright then. Come with me, keep Stiles from lecturing me. It’s habit now. He says I can have whatever I want, but sometimes he can’t stop himself.” 

Derek laughed and went with him to the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me for the ending. I'm terrible at them. Hope it was cute and you enjoyed it!!


End file.
